


follow you

by tgrsndshrks



Category: Marilyn Manson (Band)
Genre: Aftercare, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Boot Worship, Choking, Dehumanization, Hand & Finger Kink, Humiliation, M/M, Multi, Objectification, Smoking, Spit Kink, Threesome - M/M/M, Unsafe Sex, endless amounts of filth
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-27
Updated: 2016-01-27
Packaged: 2018-05-16 16:08:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,255
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5832001
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tgrsndshrks/pseuds/tgrsndshrks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>	“John has so kindly offered to let you take out your frustration on him,” Tim explains. John nods once. Tim knots his fingers into John's hair and guides his head down, far enough that he gets the instruction to kneel. It's not exactly public, but it's close enough to the street that they can hear the cars and it's maybe a little risky. But John has subbed for Brian enough times to know he likes risky. Tim rests his hand on top of John's head to gesture for him to stay, before sitting back next to Brian. “So, how'd I do?” he remarks.</i>
</p><p>or, brian has a bad day and tim cheers him up by bringing him john. sinning ensues.</p>
            </blockquote>





	follow you

**Author's Note:**

  * For [littlenymphets](https://archiveofourown.org/users/littlenymphets/gifts).



> this fic is basically a rewrite of a rp i did with zahra ao3 user littlenymphets. she's letting me write and post this because we both agreed that the world deserves more john fic. and honestly where the damn hell is all the john fic!!!! do i have to write everything around here
> 
> anyway. title is a bring me the horizon song. this is nothing but trash.
> 
> oh and a side note: DON'T FUCKING CHOKE PEOPLE WITH A BELT LIKE THAT. IT'S DANGEROUS. okay. cool.

“Fucking incompetent motherfuckers,” Brian is yelling, which means some studio guy is fucking up the mix again. Tim hears him shouting through the studio wall, clearly enough to understand him, which means he's pissed. It's not that the studio guys are bad; Brian's just not that great when it comes to communicating how he wants something fixed without every other word being “fuck”.

Tim is in the middle of texting John, which is taking entirely too long because no one has invented a phone with a keyboard yet. _Someone should really get on that,_ he's thinking, when the door slams open. Tim has never witnessed a door being slammed open, but there it was. He reaches up to grab Brian by the coat collar when he stomps past.

“Stop,” Tim says.

“Fuck off,” Brian says, but he stops. Brian has a soft spot for Tim. He won't admit it, but Tim can tell. It's probably because he hasn't been in the band long enough for Brian to have considered manslaughter yet.

“You,” Tim says, “need a cigarette.” He shoves Brian in the direction of the door to the parking lot behind the studio.

“I'm fine,” Brian says, but the words are clearly forced. Tim just looks at him and Brian sighs irritatedly, stiffly walking down the hallway. Tim finishes his text to John – a very brief “where r u?” - and heads outside with Brian, taking out his cigarettes. He gives one to Brian first, cupping his hand around it and lighting it for him, the end glowing red as he sucks in a long drag. Tim sits next to him, lighting his own, and sees Brian visibly relax as he sighs smoke. He's still tense, sat on the very edge of the bench they're sharing, but it's better.

“So,” Tim says, “what did they fuck up?” He flicks his ashes onto the asphalt.

“Other than everything,” Brian says, “everything.” He huffs. “Fucking idiots can't fucking listen. I ask for noise and they give me distortion. Faggots.” Tim can't stifle a snorted laugh. “What?”

“Nothing,” Tim says. “Just find it kind of funny that you're calling the studio guys faggots when you have literally had my dick in your mouth.”

“Fuck you,” Brian says, shoving him, but Tim sees the tiniest bit of a smile. “That's not what I meant and you know it.”

“Yeah, but it got you to lighten up, so I still win,” Tim says. Brian sighs.

“Still,” he says. “If they keep fucking up these beats so bad it sounds like Ginger's in preschool still, this damn record's never gonna get finished.” He rubs his brow bone irritatedly.

“Well, at least the day's over,” Tim says, waving his cigarette hand vaguely in the direction of the Los Angeles sunset. “I'll talk to the studio guys in the morning, alright? I think they'll respond a little better to someone who isn't walking around in a five inch lift kit when he's already over six foot. Also the intern probably thinks you actually killed a puppy.”

“Oh my god, that rumor is like seven years old,” Brian says, smearing his hand down his face.

“Yeah, but the internet is a thing, unfortunately,” Tim says. Just as he's finishing his cigarette, his phone trills from his pocket. John. Which is when he has a very good idea. Well, or bad, depending on one's judgement, but Tim thinks it's a good one. He flicks his phone open. "If you stay put, I promise I'll bring you back something that will cheer you up.”

“If it's not pills I don't want it,” Brian says. Tim stomps out his cigarette and shuts his phone.

“Better than that,” he says, thumbing Brian's chin affectionately. Brian sighs but lets Tim head back inside. He flicks his cigarette butt onto the asphalt and smashes it with his boot, instantly itching for another, then remembering Tim has the pack. He swears to himself, leaning back on the bench and picking at black nail polish till he hears the door open again. 

What he sees isn't Tim – well, not at first - but John. Tim can't help smiling a little as the door falls shut and Brian's brow furrows, trying to figure out why, exactly, Tim has brought John out to the parking lot when he doesn't smoke.

“John has so kindly offered to let you take out your frustration on him,” Tim explains. John nods once. Tim knots his fingers into John's hair and guides his head down, far enough that he gets the instruction to kneel. It's not exactly public, but it's close enough to the street that they can hear the cars and it's maybe a little risky. But John has subbed for Brian enough times to know he likes risky. Tim rests his hand on top of John's head to gesture for him to stay, before sitting back next to Brian. “So, how'd I do?” he remarks.

The sick grin on Brian's face is enough to answer the question, really.

“Well enough that I'll share him with you,” Brian tells Tim. He lifts John's chin with his free hand, leaning down to speak to him. “You want this?” he asks.

“Mhmm,” John says quietly, nodding. Brian nods again. It's not like Tim hasn't walked in on him torturing the shit out of John before, beating his ass with a Bible or tracing over his tattoos with his violet wand. Tim figures they have arrangements.

“What's his safe word?” Tim asks.

“Tell him,” Brian says to John.

“Nosferatu,” John says. Tim nods. Something in Brian's face changes and he thumbs John's mouth open, sliding it across his tongue. Brian idly ashes his cigarette, the ash falling on the toe of his boot.

“Oh no,” Brian says, voice stiff with fake surprise. “Look at that. I accidentally got ash on my boot. Clean it.” When John lifts a hand to dust the boot off, Brian catches him with a slap square on the cheek. “Lick it off, fucker.”

Tim lights his own cigarette, just resting his elbow on the bench and watching as John's face flushes pink. He smiles to himself as John licks across the toe of the boot, then the first buckle, ash greying his tongue. Tim is willing to bet John purposely fucked up so he'd get slapped, but he doesn't mention it. 

John swallows thickly, his mouth dry, lids blinking heavily. "Thank you," he says, the boot still slick with spit when Tim quickly flicks his ashes on it. 

“Whoops. Sorry babe,” he says to Brian. “Didn't mean to get your boot there.” His voice is overly sweet, fakely so, and Tim gestures at the ash, waiting for John to clean the boot again. “Go on.” Brian snorts a laugh as John licks again, across the toe cap and the first buckle.

“I want that boot to be so fuckin' clean that it sparkles,” Brian says, taking another drag off the cigarette. He sighs smoke out. “You missed a spot,” he adds. John is careful, tongue licking across the second buckle. Tim sighs, holding the cigarette in the corner of his mouth and leaning down to grip his fingers into John's hair again.

“He said all of it,” Tim says, pushing his mouth into the boot so lipstick smears on it. “Well, fuck, now you've just made even more of a mess. Better clean that up too.” John licks at the boot and Tim just sort of guides John's head, working his tongue for him. “You're really going to regret getting lipstick on that boot when we're back at the hotel, y'know.” He fingers the cigarette again, taking a drag. Brian laughs quietly, watching as John struggles to lick the lipstick off the leather. He jerks his foot away, leaning down to take John's throat in his hand, the long fingers wrapping around his neck.

“Open your mouth,” Brian says. “Tongue out.” John does, his tongue wet. Brian spits on it and stabs the cigarette butt into the pool of saliva. John winces, flinches a little in Brian's grip, but doesn't pull away. He twists the butt onto his tongue, smearing ash in the spit, before discarding it and placing his first two fingers onto John's tongue, coating his tongue in ash and spit, gagging him with them. Brian doesn't pull his fingers out, just grins as John's eyes water.

“I'm done with mine as well,” Tim says. He clicks his tongue, sucking in the last drag of his cigarette. He moves in next to Brian. “Hold his mouth open for me.” Brian slips his fingers out from his lipstick smeared mouth. “You want this?” Tim asks, flicking his cigarette, and once John's nodded Tim puts his own butt out on his tongue. Brian's hand is tight around John's neck but he still flinches. “Stay still,” Tim says, smearing the ashes on his tongue before pushing his mouth shut and covering John's mouth with his hand. “Swallow it.” He sees his throat jump under Brian's grip and Tim gives him a grin and a light, praising smack on the cheek. “Good boy.”

“Thank you,” John says, once Tim's hand is off his mouth.

“I feel quite a bit better already,” Brian says. He lets go of John's throat and he breathes in a rough gasp. “Still a little annoyed about the lipstick on my boot though.”

“I'm sure John will make up for that later,” Tim remarks. He holds John's head in his hands. “Won't you?”

“Yes sir,” he says, eyeshadow already running. Tim thinks he'll be lucky if there's any makeup left on his face by the time Brian's finished.

x

The hotel room is clean. Housekeeping has gone through. Brian's pretty annoyed about it (he's throwing his coat on the floor as he's yelling “what is it today, fuck with Brian Warner's shit day?”) but Tim thinks it looks better than it did. Brian's an organized chaos type, whereas Tim's just organized. John's back on his knees before the door even shuts behind Tim. Brian sits on the small couch next to the mini bar, pushing the table out of the way with a boot. He gets two cans of whatever shitty beer out of the mini fridge, tossing one to Tim.

“I want you to strip,” Brian tells John. “And make me really believe your next meal depends on it.” Tim sits next to him, passing the pack of cigarettes to Brian's open palm. He takes one and lets Tim light it before he lights his own, watching as John is starting to unbutton his shirt. Tim watches, ashing his cigarette on the beer can, as more tattoos are exposed, John's face flushing as he surely feels all four eyes on him. He rolls his hips as he slides his pants down under his ass, and Tim's not completely unimpressed. He runs his black painted fingernails over his skin, up through his hair, shaking it out as he steps out of his jeans. John discards the last of his clothes behind him and kneels back down.

“That was alright,” Tim says. “Not the best I've seen, but I'd give him a fiver for effort.” He shrugs a shoulder and mouths his cigarette. “Six out of ten.”

“A six,” Brian says, saying the word as if for the first time. “Now, I don’t think that’s fair, Tim. He did so much work to show off his pretty little ass for us, didn’t he?” His voice is sick, sweet, too much so. “What do you think about Tim's rating, slut?”

“I think it's fair, sir,” John says. Brian clicks his tongue and stands, walking around him where he kneels, as if to study him.

“That's nice,” Brian sighs. “I'd give it a three. A worthless attempt from a worthless whore who can't even strip. What kind of whore can't strip? What good are you to us if you can’t even put on a show for us, huh?” John seems to shrink as Brian stands over him, but it may well just be the platforms of Brian's boots.

“I can be of use in other ways,” John says.

“He does have a pretty fuckin' mouth,” Tim says tightly, trying to hold the cigarette smoke in his lungs.

“Yeah, I guess that's true,” Brian says. He lifts John's chin with a hand, parting his lips and thumbing at his tongue. “Doesn't mean he's any good at sucking cock though. Why don't you teach him a few things, Tim?” Tim grins, drops the cigarette butt into his half finished beer, setting it away.

“I can do that,” Tim says. He smiles, standing up from his seat. “I would agree that he needs a little help,” he says, unbuckling Brian's belt. He pulls it from the loops and sets it aside on the bed – Brian would probably need it later – before undoing his pants and reaching in. “Maybe we should send him off with Dita for lessons.” Brian snorts a laugh as Tim's kneeling, pulling Brian's pants down with him just enough to free his cock.

“I think even for her he'd be a lost cause,” Brian remarks. Tim smiles and reaches for John.

“Come here,” he says, pulling John over by the hair. “Stay put. You watch.” John watches as Tim swallows the cock down, just wetting it over with his mouth. He pushes John's mouth open with his fingers and spits into it. “That's all the dick you get for now,” Tim says. John whines audibly, Brian's eyes heavy on both of them.

Tim moves slowly at first, taking the edge off. He steadies him with a hand around the base, squeezing low, licking open mouthed at the underside. Brian's leaking on his tongue already, like he's been aching for it. Tim sucks in in his jaw and fingers John's mouth open again, spitting precum into it. 

“You want some cock in that whore mouth, huh,” Tim says, watching as he gags on his long fingers. He holds John's head on either side, fingers knotting in blonde hair. “I think you need me to help you, though.”

“Bring him over here,” Brian says, sitting himself back down on the couch. Tim lets John crawl over in front of him and then gets behind him. “Make him suck my cock as good as you do, babe,” Brian says. Tim laughs once. 

“That's never gonna happen,” he remarks, “but I'll give it a shot.” He grins and shoves John's mouth down on Brian's cock. John brings a hand up to try to work at what he can't reach with his mouth, but Tim grabs it. “Uh uh. All mouth.” He holds John's wrists together behind his back, the other hand just fucking John's mouth on the cock. John's eyes are watering up, eyeshadow already running. Brian leans back in the chair, long legs wide to allow them both the space. Tim pulls John off for air, letting him catch his breath.

“Make his mouth fuck my dick, babe,” Brian says. John whimpers, just loud enough for Tim to hear it. “He can do it. He’s gonna have to if he wants me to fuck his pretty ass.” Tim presses himself flush with John, hard in his pants against his back as he grabs into his hair again. 

“Breathe,” he tells John, and once he's taken a breath in Tim pushes his mouth all the way down onto Brian's cock, his nose pressed into the base. “Stay.” Not that John would be able to get off if he could. When Tim pulls him back up, Brian watches with darkened eyes as John gasps, spit stringing from his mouth to the cock. Tim pushes him back down again, Brian stroking John's hair as he fucks up into the heat of his mouth. Tim feels John tense up under him and Tim pulls him off, letting him gasp to catch his breath. His lipstick is smeared and ringed red around the base of Brian's cock. 

“I think that was good, but I think you can keep it down a little longer,” Tim says. John nods. “Ready?” John nods again and Tim pushes him back down, holding his hair out from his face so Brian can see his mouth around him. “How's he look from there?” Tim asks him.

“Filthy,” Brian says, but Tim knows it's a compliment. “You're so good. I can feel all the way down your fuckin' throat.” Tim grins. “And since you picked out such a good little play thing, you can fuck him first,” Brian tells him. Tim puts a hand on John's forehead to lift him off the cock, letting him breathe again.

“I'll get him ready for you,” Tim says, hooking two fingers into John's mouth to get them wet. He sits back on his boots, feeling for the hole with spit slicked fingers and sliding one in. Tim keeps his other hand in John's hair, pushing his head down to instruct him to keep at it on his own now. John hums around Brian's cock and Brian moans low in his throat, dropping his head back. Tim turns his hand over, feeling inside him, working him open. “Arch your back,” he says, smacking John on the ass with an open palm. The hand print starts to flush immediately. “You want me to fuck you while you're sucking that cock?” Tim asks him, and John nods quickly around the dick. “You're such a good whore. Gonna take it in both ends for us.” He pulls John off Brian's cock long enough to kiss him, just a wet second, before he guides him back to work and moves to get his own clothes off.

Tim watches as he undresses, Brian's eyes seeming to read John's mind. Of course, Tim reminds himself, John's been subbing for Brian as long as he's been around. Tim had walked in on their scenes before, Brian tracing John's tattoos with the electrical current of the violet wand or John laid over a table getting his ass beaten with a Bible. John worked best in this headspace. The sex was just a bonus.

Once he's ready, Tim works himself a little, taking the edge off as he gets behind John. He imagines his own view isn't half as bad as Brian's. “Up,” he says, tapping John to get him to get up on his knees, before sliding his lubed cock over the opening. “You want his mouth on you when I push in?” Tim asks Brian, who's currently preoccupied with John's mouth.

“Yeah, fuck,” Brian says. “Keep that dick all the way down your fuckin' throat.” He threads his long fingers through John's hair, nodding to Tim. 

“Keep this ass up,” Tim says, spanking him again on the other side to make it even. Tim spits, rubbing it over the hole with his cock. He watches, waiting till John is all the way down on Brian's cock before pushing in, easily hilting himself. He curses under his breath and stays for a moment, feeling him adjust, hands on John's waist. John can only keen around the cock, fingernails digging into Brian's pants. Brian doesn't even let him off for air when Tim starts up a pace, just fucks up into his mouth even harder. Tim digs red painted nails into John's hips, just taking in the arch of his back and how fucking good he feels. Maybe it's because Tim's been waiting for this since John got on his knees behind the studio. Either way, he has no complaints.

“You love having cock in both ends,” Brian says. “I can tell. Tim picked out a good toy.” He smirks at him and Tim grins back. Brian finally lets him breathe and John gasps, moaning sharply as Tim fucks him open. He doesn't stop working the cock in front of him, even as he arches back into Tim, meeting him in the middle. Tim reaches up and grabs John's throat from behind as he fucks him, pulling him up and off to choke him. John gives a choked gasp, his head falling back.

“So fucking good,” he says, hooking his other fingers in John's mouth, his lips reflexively sucking. Tim quickens his pace, feeling John relax under his grip. Brian works himself off, watching Tim's thin body arched over John's, one hand at his throat and the other fingering into his mouth. Tim finally lets John's throat go and pushes his mouth back down, dragging his fingernails down John's back. He sits back on his heels, watching himself slide out. “He's all yours,” Tim says, climbing up to take Brian's place on the couch. He pulls John's head up to lay against his, John's ass still arched up as his hand wraps around the base of Tim's cock to work him. “You can never get enough cock, can you?” he remarks. John just shakes his head, a slow smile splitting his face.

“This ass is so ready,” Brian says, big hands spreading John open. He pushes in roughly, John letting go of Tim's cock to dig his nails into his thigh. “Fuck, yes,” Brian hisses, tipping his head back and stilling for a moment before starting a painfully slow rhythm. John rests his head on Tim's other thigh, keening a soft moan. Tim works himself, watching as Brian fills John back up again, his fingers loose around John's neck.

“I told you he's fucking good,” Tim says. “A good little whore.”

“Give me the belt,” Brian says, and for about half a second Tim has no idea what he's on about. Then he remembers. Right. The belt on the bed. Tim reaches to grab it, then passes it to Brian, who loops it around John's neck and slips it through the buckle, pulling it tight like a leash and a collar. He yanks on it, pulling John up till he's on his knees with Brian, back to his chest and ass flush to his hips. Tim works himself in earnest now, watching John. His jaw is tilted back, tattoos shone over with sweat, hips struggling to rock back onto Brian's cock or up into his hand. John's body shakes against Brian's. 

“He's close,” Tim says. He can tell it in the way John's mouth falls open but he doesn't moan. Brian loosens his grip on the belt and the gasp of air into John's lungs is audible. 

“Don't fucking cum,” Brian says, his voice dangerously calm despite everything. “You do not fucking cum until I say you can. You wait for my permission.” John nods, whining through his teeth as his head drops back onto Brian's shoulder. Tim leans forward, hands on John's chest, hitting with the flat part of his knuckles, the thuddy pain enough to distract himself from the edge. He digs his nails into the tattoos, scraping, watching as Brian gets visibly closer to his end.

“He's gonna cum in that pretty ass of yours,” Tim tells John, smacking his palms into his chest. It's only a few more rough seconds till Brian's stilling, spilling into him with his fingernails scraping at his waist. He groans low into John's neck before pushing him back towards Tim, pulling out and grinning crookedly at the mess that's already slipping out and down John's thigh.

“If you finish Tim off and take his load on that pretty fuckin' face I'll let that little cock of yours cum,” Brian says, voice raw from his orgasm. Tim lays back on the couch and John crawls after him, his calloused fingers all over Tim's cock. He works him over slowly at first, then speeding up a little as Tim loosens the belt around his neck fully. He grabs his throat by hand instead. 

“You're so fucking good,” Tim says, low in his throat, not choking John, just holding him there. “Fuck. Yes.” John nods, turning his hand to work him overhand. Tim moans, his head falling back. “M'gonna cum on that pretty face.” And he does. He spills across John's mouth, and his jaw and his hands, his own skinny frame lifting off the couch up into John's fist. Tim smears cum across John's face, the last traces lipstick streaking his cheeks. Tim pushes his hand into John's mouth and he sucks them clean.

“Now get yourself off,” Brian says to John, and John just nods. Tim pulls him up onto the couch with him, untouched cock straining against his stomach, gripping himself carefully at first like it's going to hurt. Tim holds him close, feeling every twist and jerk of John's body as he finally cums, a weak moan falling from his cum smeared mouth as it's finally over. Tim closes his eyes, feeling John relax into him, his head resting against his chest. When he opens them, Brian is already asleep on the bed on top of all the covers. He probably passed out the second he hit the pillow.

“You did a good job,” Tim says quietly, rubbing John's chest where he'd hit it before. “Thank you for helping me out.”

“Thank you,” John sighs, his eyes lidding contentedly. “I needed that too.” There's a silence for a few seconds, before John asks, “Am I actually a bad stripper?”

Tim smiles. “You did fine,” he says. “The six out of ten was just for the sake of the scene, y'know. It was more like a solid eight point five.”

“Okay, good,” John says, not opening his eyes. “I'll work on making it a nine next time.”


End file.
